


Farsighted

by emeraldorchids



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Best Friends, F/F, Female Friendship, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Multi, Slow Build, slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldorchids/pseuds/emeraldorchids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda is happier than she's ever been. Her friendship with Andrea is fulfilling in ways she had never dreamed. But sometimes, things so close aren't what they seem. (Miranda POV.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

I would never admit to this, of course, but I hate being alone. I suppose the fact that I am currently engaged to what would be my fifth husband makes that painfully obvious.

Now that my daughters are in junior high, they seem to spend every waking moment with their friends, walking around 5F at Bergdorf Goodman. They're harmless and don't cause trouble, but knowing that they won't be home when I walk in the door in the evening makes home far less comfortable.

David is a good man, well-connected and attractive. He's significantly younger than me, but his blond hair is beginning to grey, and his hairline is receding, which actually works in my favor. I am exhausted by the press these past few years—ever since my embarrassingly childish reaction to the way Stephen divorced me.

When I think about it, my one constant in the past few years has been Andrea. She began as my clumsy second assistant, and I didn't think she'd last a month, but soon found I was asking her to join me in Paris. Don't get me wrong, I would have much rather taken Emily, except she had to go and get herself hit by a taxi just days before Paris Fashion Week.

Andrea did the job reasonably well. I didn't want to take such a new employee with me, especially one as impressionable as Andrea was at the time. I've seen it before—I give them one night to themselves and they seem to consume all the wine within the city. I had fully planned to keep Andrea busy each and every night—for her sake, as well as my own—but the divorce papers came, and she had that pitiful look in her eye. The next day I half hoped she would have been too hungover to show up.

Looking back, I think she'd have wished the same.

When I found her sitting by the fountain after my last show had finished, I saw the guilt in her eyes. There was something about her I actually liked. It was refreshing to work with people who challenged you personally and professionally. Andrea was certainly a challenge. I had known all along she wasn't like the other girls at the magazine, but I didn't realize how much my staff needed someone like her to breathe fresh life into the halls of the 38th floor.

Since then, I've become a sort of mentor to her, I suppose. We talked a lot about Paris: about her decisions and about mine, about Nigel, about Emily, and about being an adult with a job and responsibilities. In a way, it was a primer for discussions I imagine I'll be having with my daughters in a few years. It was sad to learn that while Andrea has such loving parents, they aren't able to support her in the ways she needs.

Shortly after Paris, a position as a buyer became available, and while I knew she would never ask me for it, I knew Emily wanted it. I put on a show about how impossible it would be to lose Emily, knowing that Andrea would easily slide into her role. She did that—and more.

Andrea setup a training program for new staff members and created a binder which is affectionately known as "The _Runway_ Bible" by the team. In it is anything and everything one needs to know about life at the magazine, down to my coffee order, my measurements, and the keycode for the gate at my private residence Vermont. I thought the project would be a waste of time, but I didn't have anything else worthwhile to busy her with, so I let her do her thing. I am embarrassed to say that it has worked miracles on the employee retention rates here.

I don't know how she does it.

My loneliness is manageable because of her. We talk or text every single day. She listens to me, has thoughtful replies, and I have started to listen to her, too. Emotionally, I am satisfied because of her; however, it does not satisfy the need for another human being's touch night after night, year upon year.

Naturally, when Irv Ravitz told me he had someone he wanted me to meet, I cringed, more so than usual. But, we were at a benefit that I couldn't leave yet, and Irv was still technically my supervisor, so I smiled and exchanged pleasantries with a gentleman with whom his son attended Harvard. David was kind and charming, nothing unusual for a male at a fashion benefit.

It wasn't until he pulled me aside and whispered that he wanted to kiss me but didn't want to cause a scene that I saw his potential. I brought him upstairs to my suite and mentally began preparing myself for a one-night-stand. He led me to the couch and took a seat next to me. I was surprised—because the bed looked infinitely more comfortable—but my heart was thrumming in anticipation of feeling another human being's skin against mine.

I was desperate.

I sat next to him on the couch and began to take my earrings off when he reached up and stilled my hand. "Let me," he said. He was so careful and meticulous, handling the gemstones as if they were the most delicate jewel in the world. First my earrings, then my bracelet and rings, and lastly, my necklace, all set delicately on the coffee table. He traced his finger down my neck and my body awoke with a shiver. I don't remember what he said, just that he kissed me. We were kissing each other and touching each other and I kept reminding myself, _this is a one-night-stand._ After a while, we took a break to catch our breath, and he excused himself to the bathroom. I took the opportunity to change out of my couture gown and into my black silk lingerie, grateful that Andrea always had the essentials ready in my suite.

I was kneeling on the bed when he emerged a few minutes later. He climbed up to join me, kissing me and touching me as I unbuttoned his shirt. I unfastened his belt and reached for his pants when his hand stopped me. "Don't take this the wrong way—you're a very beautiful woman," he said, "but I believe in chastity." I sat back on my heels as his words washed over me. He proceeded to take off his pants and shirt, leaving just his boxers and socks, as he explained that he still very much wanted to _sleep_ with me.

"Just sleep?" I asked him. He clarified that he wanted to kiss me and touch me and hold me all night, and maybe fall asleep too. I could hardly believe what was happening, but I agreed, and that was one of the most satisfying nights I'd had in recent years.

We exchanged a few emails and calls over the following week, and after learning more about him—he was a very devout Christian, and a widower—I started seeing him officially. We saw each other four or five times a week, and he spent the night every other week, when my daughters were staying at their father's. After about six months, he proposed to me, and I accepted.

I have been delaying any talk of marriage, and I am not sure why. The obvious reasons would be something like fear of commitment or anxieties about intercourse, but I don't think either of those really apply. Would I have sex with him? Of course. Do I desire him sexually? Not really.

Truth is: I love what he provides me with, but not him.

When I started seeing David, I witnessed a jealousy in Andrea that was entirely unanticipated. I made note of that, and have since tried to drop hints at how much I appreciate her as a friend. I make an effort to have lunch with her at least once a week where we just talk about her career, the freelance stories she's working on, and whatever else she wants to discuss. If we're at work late—usually the nights when David is busy—I'll invite her into my office for a drink while we quietly prepare for the days and weeks ahead.

I've noticed that she touches me now. I can't say whether she had been doing this all along, but it seems like it started once things became serious between David and me. Maybe I am just more sensitive to the touch and have only started noticing, although I find that difficult to believe. The thing is, her touch is heavenly, and I can't help but respond.

She will brush her fingers along mine as she hands me a folder, or along my neck as she drapes my coat over my shoulders. She rests her fingertips on my arm when she leans in to whisper something, and I can feel her hand on the small of my back when she steps aside and lets me walk ahead of her. Months ago, it was just the gentlest of touches, but now, she softly strokes her thumb along my arm or my hand, and I still can't figure out whether it is deliberate. Not that it matters.

I looked at my phone and realized I have been ignoring David all week in order to spend time with the young woman. Turns out I would rather be emotionally satisfied than physically. I can't talk to David the way Andrea and I do; I don't have the same connection with him. He's incredibly devoted and would do anything to make me feel better—well, except for his vow of chastity—and it rather reminds me of the way Emily would fawn over me years ago. He's nice to have around, but not stimulating, and certainly not someone I would want to spend the latter half of my life with.

I just don't know how to break it to him.

I quickly glanced at my calendar. Tomorrow the girls would be going to their father's in the evening, and David would be coming over. I needed to talk to him before then, or else the entire weekend would be a disaster. I sent him a message asking him to meet me for dinner, and asked Andrea to make the reservation. He agreed, and the reservation was set. Now I needed to figure out what I would say.

"Andrea," I called.

"Yes?" she replied, standing in my doorway.

I took off my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose. "If you were to—hypothetically—need to cancel plans with a hypothetical significant other, but you want to do it as nicely as possible without being too nice," I paused and looked up. "Stop smirking, this is a serious question," I said. I was slightly irritated that she seemed to find this situation humorous.

"I'm sorry. Just, can you say it in plain English? You can trust me," she said. I nodded and gestured for her to shut the door as I got up and walked over to the sofa. She sat beside me and reached for my hand. "I'm listening," she said. I squeezed her hand and took a deep breath. "I need to break my engagement with David. He's a good man…for some other woman. I don't love him, and I can't spend the rest of my life with him. And it's not fair to lead him on like this," I said.

She gently squeezed my hand again and brushed her thumb along the back of my hand. "Okay, so you're trying to figure out how to tell him this, and I imagine you want to tell him sooner rather than later, correct? That's what the reservation is for tonight?" I nodded. This woman's ability to handle a situation was uncanny. Andrea spent the next ten minutes talking me through what I would say, how I would phrase it, how I would leave things. She made me promise to call her later tonight, regardless of how dinner went, and knowing I could talk to her when it was all over was a small ray of hope for me.

Dinner went better than I had expected. David had tears in his eyes, but did not cry. He appreciated my honesty, and we both agreed that we did not regret the time we spent together. I wished him the best, and left before dessert arrived. I wanted to call Andrea in the car on the way home, but as I was dialing, my ex-husband called to tell me that he picked up the girls a night early since they were going somewhere right from school the next day. I wasn't happy about it, but what could I do? I returned home to an empty house, with no hope of physical contact anytime soon. I poured myself a glass of wine, sent my daughters a text goodnight, and made my way up to bed.

Several hours later, I woke to my house phone ringing. I reached over to the nightstand and picked it up. "Hello?" I heard Andrea sigh on the other end of the line. "Hi, it's me. Sorry, I was just worried," she said. I switched the lamp on and picked up my phone, which was still on silent. Two missed texts and one missed call. "I was waiting for your call tonight, and you weren't responding, so I just wanted to make sure you're okay. Sounds like you were sleeping?" she asked. I read through her text messages as I listened to her talk. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I intended to call you, then James called to say he picked up the girls a night early, and then I just fell asleep. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," I said.

"Did everything go okay tonight?" she asked. "Yes," I explained, "He took it better than I thought he would." She seemed satisfied with that and told me to go back to sleep, that we would talk more in the morning. I hung up the phone and turned the light out, staring into the dark. Somehow, I didn't feel so alone.

The next morning, I was a little nervous about heading into the office. I was feeling particularly vulnerable, but I was too defeated to carry any armor. I sent a quick message to my driver, asking him to pick up Andrea before getting me. I knew she wouldn't be in the office yet—she showed up promptly at 8:30 AM every morning, 9:00 AM on Fridays. It was behavior I would have never let my staff get away with years ago, but somehow, it worked. There were no crises, no last-minute scrambling, just a comfortable tranquility.

When my car arrived, I made my way down the steps and slid into he backseat, and Andrea surprised me by having my coffee ready. I began to tell her she did not need to do that, but she stopped me and simply said, "You're welcome." I blushed and apologized and thanked her. She continued talking, correctly assuming that I didn't want to talk about the previous night and that I just needed to get my mind off David until I was in my office. She went through my schedule for the day, and for next week. She talked about what she planned to order for lunch, and about her own weekend plans which seemed to consist of painting her bedroom and hanging up some artwork. Before I knew it, she was walking me into my office. When I took a seat, I simply looked up at her and hoped my eyes conveyed my gratitude.

The day progressed with relative ease. No major fires, and more importantly, no word from David. The way we ended things, I didn't expect to hear from him, though part of me hoped he would call and beg me to change my mind. He didn't need me, though, and that was more disappointing that I expected. I need to feel needed.

After lunch, many of the staff had chosen to take the afternoon off—part of the Summer Fridays program that Andrea had helped create. I had a few edits to finish on the cover story for the next issue, and I wanted that wrapped up before I left for the weekend.

"Got a minute?" Andrea asked. I looked up and she was standing in my doorway, sunglasses on her head, her bag in hand. I nodded, and she took a seat. She explained that she was heading out for the afternoon, and that Erica, the second assistant, would be there for the remainder of the day, but of course, I could call her if I needed anything. I thanked her and turned my attention back to the computer monitor, but I realized she was still seated. "Yes?" I asked.

"Miranda, this might seem odd or inappropriate or something, but, would you want to come over tonight for dinner and a movie? Or even just a drink? I know it's been a long week, and well, I just thought some company would be nice. I mean, I know it's weird. You would never go to your assistant's home, but I really hate going out to the bars and thought a casual evening—" she paused and sighed. "Sorry, I'm rambling. Will you come over tonight, say 7 o'clock?" I smiled and nodded. That actually sounded nice. I so rarely had the opportunity to spend time with her outside of work—this would be good for me.

After she left, I was able to finish up my work relatively quickly and leave the office before 5 myself. I went to pour myself a glass of wine, but remembered my plans with Andrea, so instead I selected a bottle to bring her and put it in the fridge to chill. I changed out of my white suit and instead of reaching for my yoga pants, I wondered what I might wear to Andrea's. I sent her a quick message, asking how "casual" she meant. She replied, saying she would likely be in running shorts and a t-shirt, but I could wear whatever felt comfortable. She did warn me that her air conditioning only had one temperature setting, so it was best to dress in layers. I dug through my closet and put on a pair of black capri-length leggings, a black ribbed tank, and then a lightweight drapey black and navy blue patterned cardigan. Just as I was deciding which shoes to wear, I got a text message and automatically assumed Andrea was canceling. To my surprise, she was simply telling me I could come early and help her cook if I wanted.

That was exactly what I needed to hear.

I decided to walk to her place—it was just over a mile from where I lived when I actually looked at the map. I usually didn't walk around the city, but with a baseball cap and sunglasses on, I blended in enough to be inconspicuous.

"Hey!" she said, greeting me at the door, "I almost didn't recognize you." I explained to her how I had walked through the park and not a single person noticed me. It was usually difficult for me to disguise myself because of my hair, so I was particularly proud of this accomplishment. "No," she said as I took of my shoes and followed her into the kitchen, "not that. Your body, it's—I didn't realize you were this thin. You never wear anything with lycra to work." She paused for a minute. "You look great, don't get me wrong. It's nice to see you outside of the office," she added. I pondered on that comment as I pulled a bottle of wine from my purse and handed it to her. She grabbed a corkscrew and handed me a glass. "Cheers," she said, "to Fridays and friendship." Fridays and friendship, indeed.

She was right about the air conditioning in her apartment, but I would rather be too cold than too hot, so I removed my cardigan and tossed it across a chair. She was making steak tacos, and while she sautéed the meat, I worked on the salad, which consisted of tomatoes, cucumbers, and avocado—all chopped in equal-sized cubes—plus some cilantro, thinly sliced red onion, lime juice, and olive oil. It had been years since I cooked a meal _with_ someone, but I was happy to let Andrea assign me whatever tasks were needed. While the steak rested, she gave me the option of warming the tortillas or making fresh tomatillo salsa. Spotting the Magic Bullet on her counter, I quickly opted for the latter.

"You know, I've never had rosé with Mexican food," she said as she finished her glass of wine. "Neither have I, but luckily, we finished it, so we'll need something else with our dinner," I said. She looked in her fridge and gave me three options: margaritas, Bud Light Lime, or a Tempranillo. The wine looked outstanding, but something about a taco and beer sounded so tempting. I had heard the girls in the office raving about that beer, so I thought I would give it a shot. Andrea looked floored at my decision, but opened a bottle for me, and one for herself. She reached for a glass, but I was already taking a sip, and it was pleasantly refreshing. She told me I was "utterly unpredictable" and then put two plates and bowls out on the kitchen island, where I had already set silverware and glasses of water.

Dinner was—in a word—easy. It was always so easy to be around Andrea. I never needed to worry about what to say or what she might think. And even if I said or did something otherwise embarrassing—like let out a small belch after finishing a beer—her reaction was always agreeable. She didn't ignore it, and she didn't call attention to it. I don't know how else to explain it. It was just easy. I was glad to have her as a friend, and I told her as much as we were cleaning up our plates. We opted to leave the chips and salsa out for a snack, but I helped her to put everything else away into her fridge.

"So, um, we either need to switch to margaritas, or we'll have to run out to the corner bodega for another 6-pack. I've only got one bottle of beer left," she said with a frown. I was really enjoying the beer for a change and didn't really want to switch to hard alcohol, so I reached in my purse and handed her a twenty-dollar bill. "I would come with you and pay myself, but somehow I think a picture of me buying beer in a bodega would cause a much greater uproar than me walking through central park in workout clothes," I said. She agreed and headed out the door, telling me to make myself at home and pick out a movie.

While she was gone, I explored her apartment a bit. It was probably listed as a two-bedroom, though the second bedroom was more like a random nook without a door. However, she made it into a very comfortable and chic-looking home office. She had already moved all of her furniture and pictures into the office in preparation for painting her bedroom, so her bed—a California King, I couldn't help but notice—was the only item in her rather large bedroom. The bathroom was small but quaint—a vintage claw-foot tub that had been repainted but was in exquisite condition was the centerpiece of the room. She installed some shelving beneath her pedestal sink, which was nice, and a small frosted-glass window let fresh air in or steamy air out. I made my way back to the living room and squatted down to see her DVD selection. My eyes immediately jumped to an old film I hadn't seen in many years, and I pulled it from her rack and put it into the DVD player.

Andrea returned and tried to give me the change from the beer, but I told her to keep it for next time I come over. That seemed to satisfy her, so she opened two bottles of beer and brought them to the couch, where I was already sitting. "What movie are we watching?" she asked. "Already in the player," I said with a grin. I watched as she maneuvered two different remotes until the disc menu came up. She actually squealed when she saw that I had selected _The Philadelphia Story_ , and she reached over and hugged me and thanked me for choosing her favorite movie. I don't think she quite noticed—and I would attribute that to the fact that we had each consumed two glasses of wine and two beers at this point—but when she hugged me, I sighed. It was so sudden and hurried, but all I could think about was how wonderful it felt to have her arms around me. Not that David's arms didn't feel wonderful, too, it's just that Andrea's felt better.

Andrea _was_ better.

We watched the movie in a comfortable silence, until I began saying one of the lines. Then, it turned into a competition on who knew the lines the best, and I would have won, had Andrea not paused the movie at her favorite part because she had to pee. I waited patiently on the couch, thinking about how the last time I saw this movie was right after my divorce from my first husband. I had been feeling down and this movie helped cheer me up—though the thought of re-marrying my ex-husband sent a slight shiver down my spine. Andrea returned with another beer and two glasses of water. "It's getting warm in here—do you mind if I turn the A/C on for a few minutes?" she asked. I didn't mind, and I drank some water before reaching for what must have been my fifth beer that night. I could feel the fogginess that usually tells me to stop drinking, but I was comfortable and happy, so I kept on.

After the movie was over, we stayed awake, talking late into the night about everything and nothing. I yawned and glanced at the clock, shocked to find that it was almost 3:00 AM. I called for a car, and then explained to Andrea that I needed to get home, and she needed to get to bed. After we finished the beer, she made herself a few margaritas, so while I was feeling just fine, she was ready to pass out. I stood from the couch, but she grabbed my wrist and tugged me back, basically pulling me onto her lap. "Just stay here tonight," she said as she wrapped her arms around my waist. I pried her hands off of me and stood, still holding her hands. "Come with me. I'm going to help you into bed," I said. Andrea frowned, but came willingly. We first stopped in the bathroom where I removed her eye makeup and gave her some mouthwash, then headed to her bedroom, where I helped her into bed. "Don't I get a kiss goodnight?" she asked. I smiled and kissed her knuckles, then let go of her hand, turning out the lights and letting myself out.

I didn't hear from her until late the next day, when she texted to ask if I got home alright. I told her that I very much enjoyed the evening, and she suggested we do it again—if, of course, our schedules allowed. As it turned out, the girls asked me if they could go with some friend to see Grease in Central Park on Friday. "Of course," I said, "Whose parent is going with you all?" When they didn't respond, I was about to say something, but Caroline quickly asked if Erica or Andy could chaperone them. I told them they would have to call the office in the morning before school and ask themselves. Andrea, of course, said yes, and later that afternoon she asked me if I would be there. I told her the girls didn't invite me, and she reached down for my hand, then said "Well, I am inviting you. Will you join me?" She hooked me with the promise of a picnic complete with pinot grigio juiceboxes and string cheese. It was another delightful Friday evening with my friend Andrea, and while it was a little chaotic rounding everyone up and waiting for their parents, it was comfortable.

For the rest of the summer, Andrea and I had a standing date on Fridays. On weekends when I had the girls and they were actually at home, she was always willing to find something fun for them to do. They didn't always end with us talking till the wee hours of the morning, but they just felt right.

Once autumn approached, my schedule was becoming busier. Dinners and showings and photoshoots and cocktail parties seemed to pop up everywhere, and for four consecutive weeks, I had professional obligations that prevented me from seeing Andrea. I was able to leave one of the shoots early because it began raining, so I asked my driver to head to Andrea's place, in hopes that she would be home and up for an impromptu drink. I had been meaning to talk to her, too, about her freelance work. She was incredibly successful, and I knew if she had more time to devote to writing, she could easily make that into her full-time career.

When I knocked at her door, I heard what sounded like Led Zeppelin playing on the stereo, and for a minute I thought I had the wrong apartment. She opened the door and reached for me, hugging me as she pulled me inside. "Oh my god, I can't believe you're actually free!" she said. She opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, bringing the bottle to the coffee table as well. It was already pretty late, but that didn't matter. It just felt good to close my eyes and relax against her couch, sipping on an alcoholic beverage. I was tired, but not ready to sleep, so I sipped my wine until the glass was finished, then I placed my glass back on the table, and leaned back into the couch. "Thank you, I needed that," I said, reaching for her hand. She set her wine glass down and took my hand in hers. "How was your week? We didn't talk much," I said, my eyes still closed. "It was okay," she said, "nothing spectacular. Definitely better that you're here now." I smiled and took a deep breath. I could feel the wine wash over me as the burdens of the week seemed to disappear.

I felt Andrea's fingertips on my cheek, tucking my windswept hair behind my ear, then tracing down my jaw. My eyes shot open and she was inches from my face. Before I could react, her lips were on mine. She was kissing me. _Andrea_ was kissing me. Her lips were so soft, but—I reached up and pushed her away, gently squirming out from beneath her arm. She looked up at me with these sad, pouty eyes, all while a million thoughts raced through my mind.

_What just happened? Is she drunk? Is she a lesbian? Am I drunk? Was I dreaming? Her lips felt so good. Am I a lesbian? What was she thinking?! She still works for me. What am I doing here? What have we been doing these past months? Does she love me like that? Do I love her? I thought we were just friends. NO. She's just had too much wine. We are friends and nothing more. She won't even remember this in the morning._

"Andrea, darling, you're drunk," I said, smiling and standing from the couch. "No, you are!" she said, folding her arms across her chest and frowning. "Let me get you a glass of water," I said, heading for the kitchen. I needed some space, and I needed to clear my head. I let the water run for a while before pouring a glass and bringing it back to her. I sat next to her and handed her the glass of water, but she would not make eye contact with me. I laid my hand on her back and gently started rubbing in circles, desperately trying to take my mind off of the exquisite taste of her lips. I wanted another glass of wine, but opted to wait until I returned home.

She finished the water and set the glass on the table, resting her head in her hands. "It's okay. It happens to the best of us," I said, hoping to reassure her. She was crying now, and it broke my heart. I had only ever seen her cry once, when she had just started working for me, and that felt like ages ago. "Come here," I said, pulling her closer so she could lean on my shoulder and I could wrap both arms around her. "No need to cry, darling. It's okay, I am not upset," I said. After a while, she sat up and wiped her eyes, still avoiding my eyes. "Miranda, I think you should go," she said.

I was a little surprised, but I took a deep breath and stood from the couch. "Don't worry, darling, things will be alright in the morning. Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked.

"Stop! Just stop doing _this_ , calling me 'darling,' and touching me and smiling at me. Just stop," she said. I tensed up and felt my walls going up quickly. "Andrea," I said sharply, "I have no idea what I have done to anger you so much right now. If you'd care to share, I am open to an adult discussion, but I will not have you shouting at me. Do you understand?" Andrea buried her head in her hands again and groaned. "Of course I fucking understand. It's you who apparently doesn't understand how adults actually interact. What, did you think we were having playdates for the past four months?" she hissed. I glanced at the door, but decided I needed to stay and have this conversation now, against my better judgment. "What does the past four months have to do with this? You had too much to drink, got a little too friendly, and now you are shouting at me. Connect the dots for me, Andrea," I said, placing my hands on my hips. "And do me the respect of looking me in the eye." I was furious. I trusted this young woman, and for her to turn on me so quickly—all the private information I shared with her over the years that could find its way into the _Post._ I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach.

She took a deep breath and looked up at me, tears streaming down her cheeks, her mascara smudged beyond repair. "Miranda, I love you. I'm _in love_ with you. I thought you were—I thought we—these dates—and the hand-holding. Miranda, you led me on. For months. And now you're treating me as if my feelings don't matter, as if I acted out of some drunken stupidity. Well you know what, even though I didn't have a sip of wine tonight, I think one has to be both drunk and stupid to attempt to love Miranda _fucking_ Priestly. Please excuse me, your highness," she said, genuflecting as she stood and walked past me and into her bathroom.

I stood there, frozen, for god knows how long. I was only angry with myself, wondering how I let this happen, how I hurt my one and only friend so badly that she would say such things to me, and more importantly, wondering if the damage was beyond repair. I took a deep breath and set down my bag as I kicked off my heels. I untucked my blouse and headed for the bathroom, knocking gently. "Andrea?" No response. "Andrea, I need to apologize." No response. "Please, I need to know that you're okay." "I'm fine."

I let out a sigh of relief and pressed my head against the door. "Can I come in?" I asked. "Sure," she replied. I slowly opened the door. She was sitting indian-style on the lid of the toilet. She had removed her eye makeup, but her eyes were still red. "Would you prefer to speak in here? Or maybe in the other room?" I offered. "Not the couch," she said. "Okay, it doesn't have to be the couch. We can sit on the floor and lean against the couch, how's that? I'll move the coffee table a little bit?" Andrea nodded and got up, following me out of the bathroom. With the coffee table off to the side, there was plenty of room on the carpet. I pulled a few pillows off the couch and tossed them on the ground, easing my fifty-three-year-old body to the floor.

"Let me start," I said. "I would normally reach for your hand while talking to you, but now I'm trying to be more conscious about our interactions." I clasped my hands together and folded them in my lap. "Over the past few months, you and I have gotten really close, but even before that, after Paris, you've just become this constant in my life that I wouldn't give up for anything. One of the reasons I ended things with David was because I didn't feel as emotionally connected to him—as much as I was to you. You were this constant by which I judged all other things, and until today, I didn't quite realize that no one will ever compare to you." She looked up at me for a moment, blushing before putting her head back down.

"You must realize," I continued, "that this has all happened very fast for me. I know it's absolutely no excuse, but the mere thought of, of that kind of a relationship between us, had not crossed my mind. Please forgive me. I love what we have, and it's not surprising that I freaked out the way I did. You're my employee, my best friend, twenty-five years my junior, and a strikingly beautiful woman. I have never kissed another woman, let alone touched her in ways—but with you, however brief, I won't lie, it felt incredible. So, maybe I'm the one who's drunk and stupid right now, but if you can accept all of my craziness and still want me, that should be enough to help me conquer my fear of feeling the same."

I paused for a moment as my words sunk in. I was nervous. Each second longer made me regret opening up in the first place. I closed my eyes and waited, until finally, I jumped when I felt her hand on mine. "Miranda, it took me a while to decipher what you said, but I think it translates to something like 'I love you, too, and I want to try this but I'm scared'—is that right?" she asked. I looked up at her and nodded. "But I can't promise it will be easy, or that I even work that way. We'll have to go slow," I said as I cautiously reached up to cup her cheek. She leaned into my hand as I softly brushed the pad of my thumb under her eye. "Don't cry, darling," I said, "if you can paint, I can walk."

Andrea smiled and kissed the palm of my hand before moving closer. "I just want to curl up next to you, okay? No pressure," she said. I smiled and ran my fingers through her hair. "Darling, not to be too presumptuous, but do you think you could curl up next to me in a bed? I would rather not wake up grumpy and stiff," I said. "Plus, it's nearly midnight." She sat up and climbed to her feet, then reached for my hands, helping me to my feet as well. We regarded each other for a minute, and then she bent down and tossed the pillows back onto the couch, then reached for my hand and led me to the bedroom.

 


	2. Chapter 2

I helped Andrea to turn down the covers, and after gazing at one another across the bed for a few minutes, looked down at my blouse and asked her for something to change into. She handed me a t-shirt and lounge pants, and I went into the bathroom to change. When I returned in the t-shirt that just barely came past my underwear, Andrea smiled and squeezed my hand as she slipped away to do the same. While I sat on the edge of the bed waiting for her, a million and one thoughts raced through my mind. She cracked a small smile when she returned, and I think she sensed my anxiety—at least I hoped she did. She turned out the light and crawled under the covers, softly patting the mattress next to her without saying a word. I took a deep breath and joined her in the bed.

“Miranda, I know you’re nervous, but I just want to hold you,” she said.

I reminded myself that this was Andrea. She knew me, and she wasn’t going to hurt me, and I needed to keep reminding myself of that. She whispered for me to turn onto my side, and I felt her body press up against my back, her arm cautiously draping over me. She asked if this was okay, if I was comfortable, and I responded with a sigh as I took her hand and laced our fingers together. “I have to leave early in the morning—I can’t stay long,” I reminded her. She responded by wrapping her arm tighter around me. I chuckled and squeezed her hand. This could work.

Several hours later, I woke up, minutes before 5:00 AM—a habit I apparently could not break. Her arms were still around me, but awake and with the early-morning light filling the room, I felt self-conscious. What is that saying about darkness covering all sins or something? Nonetheless, it’s much easier to ignore reality in the dark.

I extricated myself from her arms and slipped into the bathroom, changing back into my clothes. I walked over to tell her goodbye, but she looked so peaceful, not waking as I brushed my fingers along her cheek. I left the room quietly and grabbed a post-it from her desk, scribbling a note: _Darling - Call me when you wake up. xo M_. I attached the note to her bathroom mirror, where she would be sure to see it, and then I quietly left her apartment.

My driver was still waiting across the street, which worked perfectly. I gently knocked on his window to wake him, then slid into the backseat. I wanted to be home when the girls woke up, which probably wouldn’t be for another few hours, but just to be safe. I had asked Cara to stay over last night because the photo shoot was going to run late, so I knew she’d be there for them, but this was one of the few Friday nights lately that they weren’t spending at a friend’s house, so I wanted to have a nice Saturday breakfast with them.

While that was true, it’s also that I didn’t know what to say to Andrea in the morning. It wasn’t quite the awkward “morning after” conversation, but I needed a little bit of time to think about things, to formulate a plan. Yes, she was my friend, and yes, I was willing to explore something more, but she was also my employee still. Compromises would need to be made, and the last thing I wanted to see on Page Six was something about me being in bed with my assistant. That would not do well for her future career in New York either.

Several hours later, I found myself in the kitchen, helping my daughters make French toast. I felt a bit guilty for the way I left Andrea’s, but my girls would always come first. On that I would not compromise, but I think Andrea already knew that. When they finished making breakfast and carrying it to the table, my phone rang. Caroline handed it to me, telling me it was Andy and that I should take the call, despite our rule of no-phones-at-the-table. Because they urged me, I decided to at least had to answer and let her know everything was alright.

“Hello?” I answered. She didn’t even greet me, instead asking if I was upset or if she had gone too far last night. I glanced over at the girls, then stepped into the hall, careful so they wouldn’t hear. “Andrea, darling, I left the note so you wouldn’t be upset. I couldn’t bear to wake you, but I wanted to be home to see the girls. We actually just sat down to breakfast now,” I explained. While I waited for her response, I looked down at my hand and saw it trembling. “Andrea, please say something,” I whispered. I was suddenly terrified that I had ruined everything with what I thought at the time was a sweet note. She finally replied, and we both decided we needed to discuss things in person. The girls were going to see a movie with a few friends that afternoon, and everyone was coming back to the townhouse for dinner. I didn’t see a problem with inviting Andrea, as many of the girls’ friends know her as my assistant anyway. I took a deep breath and returned to the breakfast table.

“Girls, I’m sorry, I needed to speak with Andrea,” I said. They didn’t mind. I knew Cassidy liked Andrea a lot, but Caroline was a bit more shy. I took a deep breath. “What would you say if Andrea started coming around here more? Just to spend time with us as a friend, not my assistant?” I asked. Naturally, Cassidy agreed that it would be “awesome,” but Caroline just shrugged. I pressed her a little more, and she spat out that Andrea would be spending time with me, not with them, so she didn’t care. While that was true to some degree, it gave me insight into the twinge of jealousy fueling her thoughts.

I took another deep breath and explained. “Well, I asked Andrea to join me this afternoon while you’re at the movies with your friends. I would like for her to stay for dinner as well. You will both be so busy with your friends, I thought it’s only fair for me to invite one of mine.” Caroline asked right away if she was staying the night, and I thought for a moment about how much I wanted her to. “Are Jessica and Megan?” I asked, knowing they were not. “Would you like them to?” Both girls looked up at me, nodding eagerly. I rarely let the girls have a sleepover, but maybe now it wouldn’t be so bad, plus it was only two girls.

Cassidy thanked me and ran to call her friends so they could get their parents’ permission, while Caroline just looked across the table at me and smirked. In that instant, I knew I looked guilty, and I knew Caroline was onto my intentions. Instead of apologizing, though, I took a deep breath and grinned right back at her. “It’s only fair,” I said. Caroline rolled her eyes as I grabbed my plate and Cassidy’s plate and carried them over to the sink. Caroline joined me, handing me her plate and then just standing there for a few minutes.

After loading the dishwasher, I put my arm around her and asked if everything was okay. She nodded, then threw her arms around my waist and buried her head in my shoulder. I wasn’t sure what she was so upset about, but I held her and soothed her anyway. With a little prompting, she began to open up. “Mom, what is going on with you and Andy?” she asked. When I didn’t answer, she continued. “When Stephen left, I know it was hard on you, but it was hard for us, too. You weren’t happy, and you hardly spent time with us. You would have never made us breakfast and then sat with us. Is this how it’s going to be when Andy leaves, too?”

I hugged her and kissed her cheek and led her over to the couch in the den. I explained that first and foremost, Andrea was my friend—she was our friend. I also admitted that until last night, I thought that was all that we were, but we’ve both decided that there might be more to it, and we want to explore the possibilities. “Is that what you’re upset about? That I might be dating her, and that she’s a woman half my age?” I asked.

Caroline laughed. “No, Mom. That’s what _you’re_ nervous about.”

I blushed and kissed her cheek. She was absolutely right. I asked her if she was upset that she would have to share Andrea’s attention, or mine, and she said it wasn’t that either. She was just afraid of what would happen if and when Andrea and I broke up. As if I needed something else to be anxious about. I took a deep breath, and explained, “Of course that has crossed my mind, but I will never be happy if I go into a relationship preparing for its inevitable end. I know you’re still young, but I want you to dream of forever relationships. My poor choices shouldn’t leave you disillusioned. You deserve to be really, truly happy. And I deserve it, too. Because of that, I need some room to explore things with Andrea. I don’t want to lose her friendship, but I can’t pass up the opportunity for…for love.”

Cassidy had joined us on the couch somewhere in the middle of our conversation, and she suddenly asked if that was why I didn’t marry David. Shakily, I told them the truth. That I loved David in a way, but that he was not the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. How did I know? Because I would rather spend five minutes in my office with Andrea than a weekend with him. “Do you love Andy?” Cassidy asked.

“Of course I do, she’s a friend who’s been at my side for years. I’m not sure I love her in the way you’re thinking, though, and that’s part of what Andrea and I need some room to explore, okay?” Both girls nodded, then Cassidy asked who would make me happy after Andy leaves. Caroline reminded me that after Stephen and David, it was Andy who made me smile again. I sighed and hugged them tightly, telling them that _they_ would be the ones to bring joy back into my life, now and always. I still wasn’t ready to think about what life would be like without her—if she ever left.

At 3:10 PM, I was riding in the car towards Andrea’s apartment, having just dropped the four girls off at the movie theater. I texted her that I was on my way, and as soon as we pulled up, she joined me in the backseat. I looked over at her, and something seemed off. She was holding back, and I suddenly felt at fault. I pressed the button to raise the privacy screen in the car, then turned to her, reaching for her hand. Our eyes met, and I tried my hardest to settle her uncertainty. “Andrea,” I whispered, “Would it be alright if we kissed hello?”

Her eyes lit up, and she smiled the most brilliant smile. I pulled her close and felt my own nerves settle as the young woman’s arms enveloped me in her warmth. She tilted my chin up and pressed a kiss to my lips. I sighed and settled against her chest. Once we were inside, I offered her water or tea and suggested we chat in the den. I needed to have a clear head tonight, and there were things I wanted Andrea to hear.

“First, I want to apologize for the way I left this morning,” I said. I explained how I had tried to tell her last night, and how I thought the post-it was something sweet, but once I heard her voice I knew that it didn’t come across that way. “Please forgive me,” I said. “I enjoyed falling asleep in your arms, so much that I was wondering if you’d like to stay here tonight.”

Andrea looked up at me wide-eyed. I squeezed her hand and laughed, relating to her most of my earlier conversation with the girls. Andrea was surprised at their reaction, and she seemed a bit hesitant to spend the night, so I told her we would play it by ear and see how the night goes. “Oh, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about—how has your freelancing been going?” I asked.

“You want me to quit my job as your assistant,” she said.

I smiled and shook my head. She could see right through me. Of course that is what I was getting at, but I want her to be successful and happy in whatever she ends up doing. We talked a bit more about a few recent assignments she’s had, and I offered her the opportunity of working in editorial for _Runway_. She immediately balked at that, so I asked if she would at least be willing to listen to the opportunity.

“It’s no secret that the magazine is being overrun with ads. I can’t add more pages without driving up the cost, and I can’t shift the ad-to-editorial ratio without driving up advertising rates, which our sales team already has difficulty managing margins on. So, I want to keep the ads where they are, just somehow add more words and context to the ads themselves. All, of course, while maximizing ad revenue.” Andrea’s brow knitted in confusion, so I clarified. “I want to start publishing sponsored content. Instead of Prada buying a three-page spread, they’ll put their spread on two pages, but on the third, there will be a narrative-style feature—about a dress, a material, a location shoot, a charity or cause, anything, really. The advertiser could use the space to prominently promote their line, or it can be subtle and make more of an emotional connection. But the point is, I need someone to manage that, and to be able to write the pieces when the advertiser doesn’t supply them.”

Andrea was shocked that I was offering this newly-created position to her. She pointed out that this sponsored content idea was going to be the next phase of “content marketing” for digital publications, and I couldn’t agree more. I explained that this is precisely why I needed a twenty-something to lead the unit. She asked if she would be doing it by herself, and I told her initially, yes. In my mind, this position would report to Clare, our managing editor, and as the program takes off, I would imagine there would be a junior graphic designer on her team, as well as an intern or two. I wasn’t able to get much of an investment for this program, but once it was up and running and bringing in money, it would be much easier to justify the headcount on the team.

“This is a lot to take in,” Andrea said. It wasn’t the pureform journalism that she was hoping for, but there was a lot of creative freedom, and she would be learning invaluable skills for a career in publishing. As a journalist, it’s easy to be ignorant of the ads that actually fund the publication of the magazine, but editors need to know both sides, need to know what they’re defending their pages against. “So, it would be okay for me to work at _Runway_ , as long as I’m not your direct report?” she asked.

“Well, there’s no problem with you being my direct report. You’re an exceptional assistant. However, if we are to pursue a personal relationship—a romantic relationship—I cannot be your direct superior,” I said. There was a certain flexibility with dates and timelines, I explained to her, so if she did want to pursue something serious, she could backdate her resignation letter and we would be okay.

She grabbed my hand and looked concerned. “You want to take this public already?” I reassured her that HR was not the same as “public” and that I would only make it public if and when she was ready for it. One of the wonderful things about her moving to a different role at _Runway_ was that there would be no speculation or rumors if she was seen outside of work with other members of _Runway_ staff. If we were going to do this, I wanted to tell Nigel, Emily, and Serena, so they could help keep us off of Page Six while we explored our relationship.

She agreed, and sat down at my computer to write a resignation letter while I pulled some extra blankets and pillows down from the attic for the girls’ friends. I was straightening the bedspread on Caroline’s bed when I felt Andrea’s arms wrap around my waist, her lips softly brushing against my neck. I spun around in her arms and wrapped my own arms around her neck, kissing her slowly.

One of the things I learned from David was how much I enjoyed the act of kissing. There were all sorts of kisses—from light pecks to tongue-down-your-throat kisses that leave your tongue sore for days—and I enjoyed them all. This kiss with Andrea fell somewhere in the middle of the spectrum; it was much more intense than a peck, but our lips were mostly closed. Our faces were pressed together, and there was a certain stillness about her lips on mine that I rather liked. It felt as though we were sharing the same breath, being this close. I blinked my eyes open and was surprised to see her gazing back at me. Pulling away a little bit—my head only, not my body—I licked my lips and gazed into her eyes. I wasn’t planning to push things farther than that, but I soon realized I had already made the decision in my mind:

I wanted to make her happy, no matter what that meant.

Andrea took advantage of my pause and pushed me backwards against the bed, where the back of my knees hit the mattress, sending us both sprawling onto the bed. She slipped her arms from my waist and gently took my hands, lifting them above my head where she held them in place. “Is this okay?” she asked, her eyes full of hope and concern. I nodded, and she bent her head down to kiss me, slowly. With her lips on mine, her body pressed against my own, I felt as though I had died and gone to heaven. Gone were the worries of the day—in fact, the only thing I could think about was how badly I wanted to touch her, but I was too weak to fight the grip she had on my wrists.

Some time later, I heard an alarm going off on my cell phone. “Wait, the girls,” I said, turning my head to the side and freeing myself from the young woman’s grip. The movie they went to see would be ending soon, so I needed to drive back to the theater to pick them up. Andrea stayed home and began prepping dinner, and the entire way to the theater, I couldn’t help but brush my finger against my pleasantly swollen lips.

At home, after helping the girls and their friends to make their own pizzas, they went upstairs for a while to have a dance party or whatever it is that girls do at sleepovers. No one questioned Andrea’s presence at my home, though I caught Caroline watching her on more than one occasion. Andrea and I spent most of the evening in the study, working independently, and once the four girls were situated for bed, we retired to the bedroom.

I was surprised at how hesitant Andrea had been since our earlier make-out session on my daughter’s bed. She didn’t try to kiss me or touch me or even flirt with me. I softly laid my hand on her shoulder and she jumped away. “Andrea, is everything alright?” I asked. She nodded, but kept her head down. I led her towards the sofa by the fireplace in my room and took her hands once we sat. “Talk to me,” I said, gently brushing my thumb over the back of her hand. “You’ve been so quiet this evening.” She shrugged and apologized, but I knew there was more to it.

I transferred both of her hands in to my left hand, and reached up with my other hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Darling, tell me what you’re thinking about,” I said. She looked up at me with fear in her eyes, and I immediately pulled her to me and held her against my chest, kissing the top of her head softly.

“I’ll start. I’m thinking that so much has changed in the past twenty-four hours, and that I am happy about it. I am thinking about Caroline, who seems to be worrying too much about me right now, and I am thinking about you, my dear. You, who, twenty-four hours ago were my assistant and friend, and now are still both but so much more. I am thinking about the future—about your future, and how myself and the girls might fit in. I’m thinking about how wonderful it feels to have my arms around you, and thinking that my lips are still sore from so much kissing earlier. I’m thinking about myself and how anxious I am—or at least trying not to think about that. I’m in my fifties and don’t have the perfect body. I’m near unrecognizable without my makeup. I’m old enough to be your mother. I’m worried that you’ve gotten so quiet,” I said.

“It’s a lot to take in,” she said quietly. “Like you said, a lot has changed in twenty-four hours. I’m just quiet because it’s kind of hard to believe. I feel like I’m in a dream, like I’ll wake up soon and you’ll be gone.” I reassured her that that was not the case, but nonetheless let her know that she did not need to stay the night if she felt more comfortable going home. That frightened look reappeared, so I quickly added that I would feel much better with her staying here.

That night, she curled up beside me in bed wearing the green silk nightshirt I let her borrow. We both agreed to take things slowly, as it was all very new for us. She was waiting for me to turn around, like the previous night, but instead, I felt this overwhelming need to protect her, to keep her safe, and to hold her in my arms until she fell asleep. I think she was surprised when I pushed her back into the pillows and draped an arm and leg over her body, but I could feel her heart beating against mine, and after a few soft kisses, she relaxed. I laid my head on her shoulder and quickly fell asleep.

The next few weeks went by in a blur. Between on-boarding a new assistant, Andrea’s promotion, and preparations for the Holiday issue and upcoming Fashion Weeks, we were both busier than ever. I didn’t spend as much time with her during the day, but we did send a lot of text messages back and forth all day and all night. On the weekends when the girls were with their father, I would spend the night at her place. Her apartment seemed more private, while the townhouse, I think we both still associated it with _Runway_.

Over that time, we mostly kept to ourselves, giving us both time to explore the relationship and become comfortable with everything. We had agreed to take things slowly, but after those first twenty-four hours, I realized that I didn’t need slow, I just needed Andrea.

Still, we explored our intimacy very slowly. Over Thanksgiving weekend—the girls were with their father at their aunt and uncle’s in Connecticut—we hit a turning point in our relationship. We were in her bed, kissing and touching one another, and I could feel my arousal building. We still hadn’t had sex, nor had we seen each other completely naked or touched each other _that_ intimately.

On weeknights, it practically became a habit that I would masturbate before falling asleep, usually while texting Andrea or just after getting off the phone with her. But that night, in her bed, the way she brushed against my nipple and stroked her hand down my thigh—I could just feel my folds quivering with anticipation. The look in her eye seemed innocent enough, and I suddenly felt like this foolish old woman who’s desperate to get laid. It wasn’t like that between us, but at that moment, I felt that way. I kissed her softly and pulled away, excusing myself as I got up to use the bathroom.

Once inside, I shut the door and pushed my panties down, frantically reaching for my folds and plunging my fingers into the wetness. I was so close. I grunted quietly and flushed the toilet as I pressed my thumb against my clit, sending me over the edge with a gasp and chortle. I slipped my fingers out and turned on the faucet, cleaning up before returning to bed, and to Andrea.

When I crawled under the covers, Andrea curled against me and buried her head in my neck. I could feel my pulse racing against her lips. She inhaled deeply, then shuddered against me. “I wish you would let me do that for you,” she whispered before kissing my neck once more.

I gasped and pulled away. Had she known—was it that obvious? Just the thought was making me so wet, so quickly. She licked the outer shell of my ear and I moaned. There was no turning back. I knew I couldn’t hide it any longer.

“Miranda, I want to taste you,” she whispered. “Can I taste you, please?”

My response was a cross between a moan, a cry, and a meow. I would have been embarrassed, but I was too aroused. With what little coherence I had left, I slipped my underwear down and kicked them off. All of my senses were assaulted at once when Andrea moved between my legs. It was the most incredible feeling, being fully controlled by the young woman. I recall very few details from that night aside from waking feeling sore and spent and completely content.

I’m not sure how it had gotten to that point, but we were both glad to have crossed that bridge. I think we both feared that we wouldn’t be compatible, and that we’d lose what we had. That turned out to most definitely not be the case, so it was a relief for all.

A few weeks before Christmas, I scheduled a happy hour for myself, Andrea, Nigel, Emily, and Serena. Everyone had been working extraordinarily hard and I wanted to show my appreciation. More importantly, Andrea and I wanted to let them know we were seeing one another.

We had a corner table at a quiet bar. Nigel was seated on the end, to my right. Andrea was to my left, and next to her was Emily, and then Serena. We spent some time discussing work, but after a few drinks, the atmosphere changed. Serena was the first to notice, and she whispered something to Emily, who then texted Nigel because he was sitting across the table. My eyes fluttered closed as I felt Andrea’s breath on my neck. She placed a soft kiss, and I dug my fingernails into her thigh where my hand had been resting.

Nigel cleared his throat, and I looked up. The three of them were staring at me wide-eyed. Andrea just laughed and leaned her head against my shoulder. I smiled and reached for her hand. “One of the other reasons I asked you here tonight,” I said, “is to let you know that Andrea and I are in a relationship.”

“And we don’t want to make a big deal of it to the press, but also we’re getting really bored with staying in my apartment every weekend,” Andrea added. “Well, maybe not _really_ bored, but, you know.”

I blushed. Thankfully, it was dark in the room. “What Andrea is trying to say is that we’re all friends here and we hope that we can get together outside of work more often,” I said.

“You want us to be your cover story?” Nigel asked.

“Sort of, yes, but we also want to see you and have drinks like this every now and then,” Andrea explained.

Nigel was hesitant, which I expected. Serena was supportive, and Emily was just shocked. I called the waiter over and paid the check, thanking them all for joining us this evening. I could sense that Andrea was uncomfortable, so I wanted to get her out of there as soon as I could. Unfortunately, being a Friday night in Manhattan, it was next to impossible to find a cab, so while Serena and Emily opted to walk home, I offered Nigel a ride back to his place. There was very little conversation in the car, except he did ask how long this had been going on. I reassured him that it wasn’t until a few months ago, when Andrea resigned. I knew Nigel, and I knew he would be okay in a few days—he just needed some time.

Andrea, on the other hand, was a concern. She already felt like she had so few friends in New York besides me—and keeping our relationship under wraps wasn’t helping. She couldn’t make friends at work without risking outing us, and outside of work, well she spent a lot of time working, and when she wasn’t, she spent it with me.

Over the next few weeks, I talked it over with my girls, my exes, and my lawyers, then finally suggested to Andrea we go out as a couple in public. She was surprised, but I think relieved, too. It just so happened that Valentine’s Day was around the corner, so I made reservations for us, and stopped by David Yurman to pick out a pair of simple, elegant diamond earrings for Andrea.

I asked her to meet me at the restaurant, and I bought a dress for her and had it sent over to her apartment that morning, with the earrings. She called me right away, and I selfishly let the phone go to voicemail because I wanted her reaction recorded so I could listen to it again and again. I called her back immediately and told her how I was looking forward to seeing her later that evening.

As could be expected, by the time we left the restaurant, there was a crowd of photographers waiting for us outside. We held hands, and as Leslee suggested, we stopped and answered a few questions. _Yes, we are on a date_ … _No, we’ve been friends for quite some time… Where would_ _you_ _take your gorgeous date after a romantic dinner?_

The whole time, Andrea stood next to me, smiling and holding my hand. I led her into the backseat of the town car, and just as I was about to climb in, a reporter shouted, “Does this mean New York’s ‘Fashion Queen’ is coming out of the closet?” I could have easily slid into the car and pretended not to notice, but I thought best to address it now before it spiraled. I told Andrea I would just be a minute and shut the door, walking over to the reporter who asked the question.

“My dear, you make that sound like it’s something new. I have been in and out of the closet so many times in my life, it’s hardly even an afterthought. What I do know, is that I have two ex-husbands, two teenage daughters, and a beautiful, incredible woman waiting for me in that car. The only thing that matters in this world is to love and be loved, and with Andrea and my daughters, I have that. No more questions,” I said, turning and heading back to the car.

Andrea was nervously chewing on her lip when I returned, but I felt like I was on top of the world. I took her hand and asked her, “Can we give them something to look at?” Her eyes lit up as she nodded. I reached over and pressed the button to lower the window and she jumped onto my lap, planting a firm kiss on my lips. I could hear my driver explaining that he couldn’t pull the car out because of all the photographers, and I felt my lips curling in a grin. I laced my fingers through her hair and kissed her harder than I ever have, and after a few minutes we were both breathless. She pulled away from my lips and began assaulting my neck, suckling on that spot just beneath my ear that makes me go crazy. I threw my head back and called out her name, just as I felt a cool breeze hit my cheeks.

We were moving. The car was moving, we were away from the cameras. I reached out and pressed the button to roll the window back up, and when Andrea pulled away I asked what was wrong.

“Wasn’t that all for the cameras?” she asked.

“If they’re going to print a photo of us, I want them to see how good we are together. And no, that was not for the cameras,” I said. She still looked at me questioningly, and instead of answering, I lunged at her, pressing her back into the seat and untying the sash of her wool coat. “I want you so badly,” I said, kissing her on the lips before sinking to my knees in the spacious backseat.

When we arrived at the townhouse, of course, it seems some photographers followed us. I turned to Andrea and asked if she would rather the driver pull around back, but she shook her head and said, “We have nothing to hide.”

“Andrea, I love you,” I said. I wanted to make sure she knew that. I needed her to acknowledge it. She nodded and softly kissed me on the cheek. With that, we went stepped out of the car and made our way to the front door.

Inside, Andrea went to hang our jackets, while I stood frozen in front of the door. A million thoughts suddenly raced through my mind, and I vaguely felt myself moving towards the stairs. I could hear Andrea’s voice, quietly guiding me to sit and asking to hold my hands. I didn’t want her to see me like this, but it was too late. I felt a strong hand on my back, softly rubbing circles.

“Miranda, it’s going to be okay. I love you. I’m here, and you’re going to be okay. Just breathe and try to open your eyes,” she said. I whimpered at the tenderness and affection in her voice. “I love you, Miranda. Take as long as you need. I’m here. I’m staying. I love you,” she repeated.

After some time I felt the fog lighten. I took a deep breath, and Andrea squeezed my hand. I didn’t want to talk right now—I didn’t want to say anything, in fact. Andrea, being the goddess that she is, stood and held out her hand. “Come upstairs. Let’s get out of these clothes and watch _The Philadelphia Story_ ,” she said.

My god I loved this woman more than life. There were things about me she mysteriously understood. Like me not wanting to talk. Or me turning to Tracy Samantha whenever I couldn’t find the words. Following her up the stairs, I knew she was my destiny. So close to me for years, and yet I couldn’t see it.

She handed me my favorite silk nightgown, undoubtedly knowing it would make me feel safe. When we were both changed into pajamas and removed our makeup, we crawled into bed, where Andrea already had the DVD ready to go. I tried to get comfortable next to her, and finally, she rearranged the pillows and sat up a little bit, spreading her legs and gesturing for me to lay against her, my back to her front. It seemed strange at first, but when I felt her chin on my shoulder, her arms around me, and her knees against mine, I knew this was exactly what I needed.

We must have fallen asleep like that, because in the middle of the night, she had to wake me to move her leg. “Andrea, thank you for tonight. I don’t know what happened. I just—I struggle with anxiety,” I said.

“I know,” she replied.

“You do?” Does everyone?” I asked, suddenly feeling like I needed some air.

“No,” she said quickly. She explained that she and Emily surmised as much when they were assistants, but neither said a word to anyone.

I reached for my phone to check the time, and was shocked to find I had multiple missed calls, texts, and emails. Looking through them, I saw congratulatory texts from several designers, a thumbs up from Cassidy and Caroline, and even a message from David, saying he wished me all the happiness in the world. I finally got to Leslee’s email, and saw the link to pagesix.com, where there were pictures of Andrea and I kissing in the town car, then walking up the steps of the townhouse looking thoroughly disheveled. I showed Andrea and she laughed, saying that we both looked hot and so into one another.

I could not argue with that.

Then, she tells me she has an idea. To put the speculation and rumors to bed, literally. She wants to post a photo of us in bed, reading Page Six. I’m not sure how that will go over, but she promises it will be tasteful. She imagines herself sitting up reading—using my glasses, while I am draped across her body, lazily kissing her neck. It sounds crazy, but I agree. There is little I won’t do for this woman. She tells me to hold on while she runs to grab something, then returns with Cassidy’s selfie stick.

She gets herself into position against the covers, her iPad propped up on her bent knees with the article on the screen. I wrapped my arm around her waist and kissed her, while she maneuvered her arm so she got the right angle on the shot and her arm was not in the picture. She snapped a few photos, then we looked through them. I couldn’t believe how stunning these looked. The early morning light was perfectly shining in the window, my hair was a mess and the way the strap of my dress slid down my arm was nothing short of sultry. Andrea’s smirk as she read the story, and my tongue curling against her neck made the perfect photo.

“I’m using this one,” she said. I agreed, and told her she could tag me in it as well. She typed up a caption and showed it to me before posting:

_best valentine + best morning after. (thx, @pagesix!)_

Best morning after, indeed.

 

 


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